


Just Your Sweet Self

by apliddell



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Boating, F/F, Femlock, Holding Hands, Lesbian Johnlock, Lesbian Sherlock Holmes, New Relationship, Picnicking, Regents park, black femlock, lesbian john watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 00:10:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13868931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: Early in their romantic relationship, Sherlock takes John on a little outing to help her stay buoyant against depression.





	Just Your Sweet Self

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sincerelywrong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincerelywrong/gifts).



> Dedicated to my dear friend Bob, whose enthusiasm has been so encouraging as I dabble in new ways to depict this lovely pair.

“Ah good,” Sherlock said, her shape still a blur as I blinked away sleep. “You’re awake.”

 

I covered my face with the crook of my arm, “Am I?”

 

Sherlock rose from her chair holding out my glasses, “You’ve had three false starts already, and it’s half past one in the afternoon. I think you may have stayed up all night. I’m not going to try and stop you going back to sleep if you need to, but I thought perhaps you’d like to get up.”

 

I pushed my glasses up my nose and yawned, “Christ.”

 

Sherlock folded her hands in front of her with a little half smile, “I’ve a proposition.”

 

“Oh?” I was conscious suddenly of my rumpled and twisted clothes, so I pulled the throw blanket draped over me up to my chin. 

 

Sherlock nodded, “When you do this, you spend the rest of the day hanging about the flat in your pyjamas, feeling guilty. Then you inevitably stay up far too late again. Instead of any of that, you should come with me on an outing that I’ve organised while you’ve been asleep.”

 

I was a bit embarrassed, “Got me all figured out, eh?”

 

“Working on it. Will you come?”

 

I yawned again and patted my hair, “What does the outing entail?”

 

“Lunch and amble about the park, maybe go out on the lake? But if you don’t fancy boating, I believe there’s a dubious Jane Austen adaptation happening at the amphitheatre a little later on this afternoon. The weather is very fine, and I’ve already packed us a lunch.”

 

“Well! How could I say no to that.”

 

Sherlock smiled, “Excellent.” She offered me a hand, “You go and get ready. I’ve just a few little things to look after.” 

 

“All right then,” I let Sherlock pull me to my feet. “See you in a bit.”

 

…

 

“God, I love cheese,” John says through a mouthful of pear. She smears the last of the Camembert on the last of the bread, and I reach out with a serviette over the end of my finger and dab away the pear juice that’s running down her chin. She giggles under my fingertip (!), “Thanks for that.”

 

“Don’t mention it.” 

 

John reaches for the sweating bottle of elderflower cordial I’ve got clutched between my knees and swigs from it, “You really know how to organise a picnic.” She presses one hand to her chest, “Impressed, but not surprised. Is there anything you’re not very good at?”

 

Consider for a moment (briefly lost in watching her take another swig from the cordial bottle), “I never did take to the harp.”

 

John laughs, “Can you play the harp?”

 

“Poorly.”

 

John lets out a little screech, “You play the harp! What else can you play?”

 

“Violin, of course. I can fake it a bit on the viola, as my awful older brother used to play. And don’t we all know a little piano?”

 

John grins, “You’re so cultured.”

 

“Mm, is that John Watson politeness for unbearably pretentious?”

 

John leans sideways and touches her head to my shoulder, “Never unbearable.” 

 

Go very still for a moment, then slowly put my arm about John’s shoulder. She smiles and leans into me. Her curls tickle my cheek, and the world contracts briefly so that all I can seem to know is the warm brush of John against me. 

 

Presently when I can speak again, “I do wish I had my fiddle.” Think of the scraps of John’s piece that have been unfurling under my bow (can only play it for her, because she doesn’t know what it is). 

 

John cocks her head to look at me, “Would you play here in the park?”

 

“I might have done, if I’d thought of it before it was too late. Just to teach you a little something about unbearably pretentious.”

 

John’s giggles vibrate through me, “Never unbearable, Sherlock.” She presses my hand, “I wouldn’t have thought you’d be so romantic. Though maybe that’s a bit stupid of me. You are romantic like a protagonist is romantic, but I wouldn’t have thought you’d be, like. Little romantic, like this.”

 

Clasp John’s hand (it’s warm and her skin is so soft)(when I let go, there’ll be hints of her unscented hand lotion clinging to me), “Am I being romantic? I’m only. Sitting here.”

 

John squeezes my hand again, “You’re attentive, and you know when I need cheering. You organised me a picnic so that I wouldn’t mope about in my pyjamas all afternoon.” 

 

“You make yourself sad that way. I don’t like it when you’re sad.” 

 

John kisses my cheek so quickly that I don’t have time to hold my breath and wish she’d linger, “Let’s walk.” 

 

…

 

“Are you tired, John?”

 

“Mm?” John shifts her gaze from the lake to my face. “Tired? Not especially. Why do you ask?”

 

“You’ve stopped pedaling.” 

 

She looks down at her feet with a little laugh, “Oh, perhaps I am a bit.”

 

“Shall we just drift about for a while, then?”

 

“All right,” John leans back in the seat of the pedalo and reaches for me. “Do you like holding hands and things?”

 

Take hers at once, “Yes! Of course. Well. I like holding your hand. I don’t know that I’d call it a hobby in general, but. I’m very fond of  _ your  _ hand.” 

 

John grins and kisses my hand, “That’s extremely flattering.” 

 

“It’s a perfect hand, John.”

 

John grins a little broader, “Thank you, lovely.”

 

Smile rather bashfully back at her, “I like it when you call me that.”

 

“I must do it more, then. What else do you like?” Drop my head onto her shoulder and shrug, and she strokes my back, and it’s too lovely (hope I don’t blub or something stupid). “You don’t know? We’ll have to find out then. Mind if I, er. Make suggestions?” 

 

“No,” still rather into her shoulder. “I’m really enjoying what you’re doing to my back.” 

 

John rubs a little firmer, “You know what, Sherlock. I think you might like kissing. What do you think?”

 

Sit up so quickly that I almost catch John’s chin on the top my head, “Yes, I think so.”

 

John takes my chin in her fingertips, and leans in but stops when we’re nose to nose (can feel her breath on my lips)(!!!), “I can’t stop smiling enough to kiss you!” I giggle under her fingers, but we manage the kissing anyway. 

 

…

 

“Look, John!” Sherlock pointed at the lake shore, “It’s the swan couple.” 

 

I grinned and followed her pointing finger, “Oh, how sweet. Have they got any chicks with them?”

 

Sherlock squinted, “I’m not sure. Though, I believe they’re called cygnets.”

 

“Ha, thanks.” We watched the swans wade into the lake and glide along the shore. “Do they really mate for life, swans?”

 

Sherlock smiled, “You think I know everything.”

 

I laughed, “Oh, beg pardon Mrs Cygnet. How could I assume such a thing!”

 

Sherlock laughed, “Well, it’s a nice thought anyway.”

 

“It is a nice thought.” Sherlock squeezed my hand and kissed it, and I smiled, “Did you know there are lesbian swans?”

 

“Are there?”

 

“Mm, there’re a pair in Boston that are famous, actually. They call them Romeo and Juliet.” 

 

“There’re lesbians everywhere.”

 

“Thank goodness.” I put my arm about Sherlock’s shoulders, and we were quiet for a little bit. “Do you suppose they fall in love? Swans? I mean they must do, or how could there be lesbians?”

 

Sherlock shrugged and leaned into me, “Dnno. I don’t suppose their brains are complex enough to feel what we’d call love. They do studies on dogs and cats and things where they monitor their brain activity, as exposed to different stimuli to see if their brains respond in similar ways to ours to things like seeing a companion. It’s quite interesting.” 

 

“Mmm. Love is just a hormone bath for your brain, I suppose,” I said with a little shrug. 

 

Sherlock frowned, “Do you really think that?”

 

I squeezed her shoulder, “Have I offended you? I’m sorry. I only meant it’s. Accessible. How would you describe it?”

 

Sherlock half-turned to look earnestly into my face, “Well the hormone bath is a factor, but that’s only a bit of it. I think you get the hormone bath to sort of. Kick you into it, because it’s an advantage, isn’t it? In life. Falling in love, having a partner. And the partnership bit is a lot more complex than a dash of oxytocin. Wouldn’t you think?” 

 

I leaned in to kiss her, “Yes. I do think. You’re exactly, exactly right.”


End file.
